The Blind Leading
by TakenHawkeye
Summary: Darkness can be more suffocating than ever imagined. A bit of a missing scene from "Out of Sight, Out of Mind". Will review those who review me.


"Stop squirming, will you?" BJ grits his teeth, tightening his hold on the razor blade to steady it. "This is delicate work and I don't like working on moving patients."

"Watch -- watch the neck." A slight note of panic laces Hawkeye's voice as the razor makes another clean sweep of his face. Staring into the nothingness of his eyes, he allows himself a few moments of self-pity and worry, raising a hand to gently brush across the coarse bandages. No, not a dream.

Bending his arm to reach the shadows of Hawkeye's neck, BJ watches the hand rise and fall again, his own gaze avoiding the stark white cloth suffocating eyes of blue. He ignores the motion, refusing to comment. "I think -- yes, that's all of it." He steps back, moving Hawkeye's face with a turn of his hand, and nods approvingly. Setting the blade aside he adds, "Look, no blood."

Hawkeye runs a fingertip along his cheeks and chin, hovering just slightly where bandage met skin. "Couldn't have done it better myself."

"I've seen you shave. You're right, you couldn't." Throwing the shaving kit back into Frank's footlocker, BJ stares at the expressionless face before him. He never realized, having no reason to, the amount of emotion eyes held. Now, not for the first time, he finds himself lost when it comes to Hawkeye's thoughts. Glancing through the netted walls, BJ mutters, conversationally, "Looks like rain."

"I wouldn't know." There is silence after this, a ringing, pressing silence.

Uncomfortable, BJ falls quiet for a few moments. "Look, Hawk, I've got Post Op --"

Hawkeye snaps his head up. "What? Oh -- uh -- no. I mean, yeah, yeah. Go. Keep an eye on that Straw kid for me, will you?"

"Straw?"

"The kid with the -- with the bandage around his eyes."

BJ nods, suddenly understanding. "You sure you'll be fine here, by yourself? I could get Radar in here, maybe take you to the Mess Tent or to the Colonel's office."

Hawkeye lifts a hand, waving the other man on. "What trouble can I get into here? Worse comes to worse I'll trip into a pile of dirty shorts and suffocate." He grins, though it doesn't seem to go ear to ear like before. "I'll just get into Frank's stuff, see what kind of mess I can make. Maybe make the bed for him." Another smile, a hint of mischief to it. "Always said I could short sheet with my eyes tied behind my back."

"Well." BJ hesitates, uncertain. "If you're sure --"

"I'm sure. Go, go." Listening intently to the sounds of the other man's footfalls, Hawkeye quickly adds, "Hey, listen, maybe when you get back we could play a game of poker. Might actually have a winning chance, for once."

BJ laughs. "Sure, just be prepared to have yourself robbed blind." The creaking of the door sounds out, followed by the gentle slam of it shutting.

Robbed blind. Hawkeye grimaces.

Slowly, carefully, he pulls himself to his feet. A hand swiping wildly in front of him, footsteps shuffling, he makes his way across the tent, and gently onto a waiting cot. All around, silence presses in, and Hawkeye is suddenly aware of just how alone he is. A young man, spread across an army issue bunk, eyes tightly bound and useless. In his mind's eye -- bitterly, Hawkeye ignores the irony of the situation -- he can clearly picture a useless man, old before his time. A sign before him, something heartfelt about the veterans of America, a tin cup rattling in his hand. With luck, the tiny plink of change will sound and one less meal will pass with hunger.

He feels the choking grip of tears, though none slip through the bandage -- he can't cry.

The loneliness is strong, and Hawkeye wonders if he can make it on his own across the compound and into Radar's office. He figures, reasonably, that he can't.

"I'll be fine, you know." The words seem harsh and loud, as the silence is shattered. Imagining he's talking to the stove, Hawkeye ignores the fact that Sidney would be interested in this -- while ignoring the fact that he could very well be facing the still, for all he knew. "Just a few days and the bandages will come off, and I'll be good as new." A pause. "No, no, better than new. That's it. The rest will do wonders for me, for my eyes, you'll see."

He starts, jerking up into a sitting position, as a soft thud breaks through his thoughts. Motionless, he strains his ears, concentrating on the sound. Nearby, the still bubbles and boils on.

"Hello?" No answer. "Hello, anyone there?"

Again, silence. Sighing, Hawkeye falls back onto the cot, fumbling beneath his head for a pillow.

"Back in Maine," Hawkeye's not sure whom he's talking to, and doesn't care, so long as the silence is broken. Never before had the sound of his own voice been so welcomed. "Back in Maine, there was this old man who lived above the library with Ms. Hutchings, the librarian. We called him Blinky. Every day, when the town clock would start chiming noon, he'd stumble down the stairs, through the library, across the road, and into the park. Blinky would just sit there, throwing bread crumbs at what he thought were birds, but was always just Eddie Maleys making bird calls."

Hawkeye's foot begins to tap anxiously.

"Blinky was always there, at every town meeting, fair, parade, or school play. Didn't seem to care that a bat had more sight than he did, he always showed up. When they buried him, the mayor granted Blinky a plot on the top of the hill. Said he'd love the view, now that he had the time to enjoy it." A gentle swipe of a hand over the bandages once more, and Hawkeye pushes the thought of being the next Blinky out of his mind.

"We didn't have a Blinky, sir, but we did have Stampy."

Surprised, Hawkeye finds himself tumbling from the cot, arms spread out before him as he lands with a sharp thunk on the floor. Sounding half strangled, he gasps out, "Don't do that!"

"Sorry, sir." Radar grabs at the fallen Captain, helping him up. "Mail call, Hawkeye. I didn't want to interrupt you."

"That's alright, it -- just announce yourself, next time." Letters are exchanged from hand to hand, only to be tossed aside. Abruptly, Hawkeye stops, back rigid and straight. "Radar, do you -- do you hear that?"

Pausing to listen, the young Corporal hears nothing except the nurse across the compound thinking of the cheating husband she left back home.

"I don't -- I don't hear anything." Radar squints his eyes, staring at the other man.

A foggy expression takes over Hawkeye's face. "It sounds like -- like steaks on -- I've never heard anything this vibrant, it's --" _Different_, he thinks.

Puzzled, Radar merely nods. "That letter from your dad, I'll read it if you want."

Absentmindedly, Hawkeye agrees, settling back into his cot.


End file.
